


Desolation

by nightfall_in_winter



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Loneliness, M/M, Nostalgia, True Love, elio is so so alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22210522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfall_in_winter/pseuds/nightfall_in_winter
Summary: Elio becomes attached to a marble statue after Oliver leaves.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 19
Kudos: 70





	Desolation

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a beautiful fan art of Elio (link below).

[The fan art that inspired this ficlet](https://iworshipyou-oliver.tumblr.com/post/190144569651/sailogs-deviantart)

******

The fragmentary remains of our summer scattered around me in the weeks after your departure. Everything continued to exist in a warped way that seemed strangely familiar, yet unrecognisable under the embedded sadness of my sudden transition into adulthood. 

It was still warm, but the days were getting shorter and the occasional autumnal nip in the air would crawl over my back when I sat under the peach tree in the lazy hours of the afternoon.

I told you that I could feel the chill already and that I wished you had arms to put around me. You remained silent as ever.

I first took that marble version of you out of my father’s office when my parents left for a short break in Nice. It felt surreal and lonely to sit in Heaven by myself with the sad whisper of the wind in the leaves and I needed company. I had nothing but the skeleton of a feeling that brought me so much joy when it was alive and lingering on your lips as they were exploring, caressing, giving pleasure. Now it was reduced to naked bones that would poke and frighten me with the cruelty of passing time, but never turn to dust.

Mum and Dad were back now but they only smiled supportively and just knew that I needed my moments with your ghost as I moved you between the veranda, my bedroom and the shade of the trees.

Mundane talk was the first thing I exposed you to. The need to tell you about my day was always stronger than me: Mafalda’s acqua pazza that she made with extra scallions just for me, the new piece I was transcribing or my unfortunate encounter with the neighbour’s fence that knocked me off my bike. I thought I heard someone shouting “Oliver” behind my back. Happened a lot recently, especially when I was engrossed in my thoughts and a sudden noise startled me to bring me back to this world.

Here I am, blowing cold air on the knees under my chin and looking at you with my sweetest distressed expression. Flirting with you was entirely on my terms and this time I was going to get it right, so you wouldn’t have to go. Start afresh, minus the annoying bits and the drama. And the puking.

**_Won’t you like to run a soft finger over my scabbed knees, Oliver? Ask me if it hurts? Kiss them gently when they are over your shoulders and you are deep inside me?_ **

Hugging you from behind felt almost natural if it wasn’t for the small circular dents your nipples left on my palm and the absence of a heartbeat. I’d sit and imagine that, in a parallel world, these circles are valuable coins and I only need to collect several thousands of them to earn you back. Other times I’d simply ask you if you are cold and whether you wanted to come inside as we were called for dinner. It was always your favourite plus the apricot juice and you never objected. In a dark moment of despair, I’d see myself as the bereaved spouse clinging to the mutilated body of her hero husband who had been hanged, drawn and quartered and I’d wipe the blood over your torso with the corner of my shirt. Just where a little moss growth was spoiling the toned perfection of your abdominal muscles.

That train leaves the empty station inside my chest every night, Oliver. It rumbles over the tracks as it takes you away and creates spiralling patterns through the valley. My trainers are pointing west and the left one still bears the circular mark of your sole. “Ouch!” I said then, the only word I uttered on that morning, for I felt the need to express any emotion out loud and then I choked. I guess I was silenced by the hope that my toe will hurt longer and help me to retain at least an ounce of your physical presence around me.

I have since developed a habit of rubbing my eyes until they hurt and sink in their sockets, because it gives me you. Or at least a smudged version of you, a silhouette displayed in fuzzy colours that lingers inside my head as a permanent mark now. Ever since you left, this place is hollow and doleful. The joy is gone from the bird songs by my window and from the pages of my diary where colourful anticipation lived in bold notes and childish scribbles.

“Good morning, Oliver!” I say to the marble statue in my bed and let myself weep silently as my hand strokes the flawless shoulders. Sorry I steal the covers every night, hope you aren’t cold. The only sign of life on you is pooled in a small hole by the shoulder blade where my come has dried from last night. I won’t do it again, just…Don’t consider me weak because of it, please…

There are some runny eggs and crunchy toast with peach marmalade for breakfast, my love. I’ll carry you downstairs and then I’ll play something I composed just for you…

******


End file.
